Money, Money, Money
by Rose the Wary Wolf
Summary: Allen's entire life since meeting Master Cross was ruled by the man's debts. He just knew he would never pay it all off, even after a life time of trying. The exorcist had no idea how right he was. The Mammon is Allen story everyone was waiting for.
1. Chapter 1

**Here's the Allen!Mammon story so many people at Keep Walking asked for!**

 **Oh. My. Gosh. This story. Just. This.**

 **I actually wrote it. I never thought I would get it done. I mean, it's not long, but it was a pain in the ass.**

 **Anyway, I don't own Katekyo Hitman Reborn or D. Gray-Man.**

* * *

They were all dead.

Piled up, one on top of the other. Like some twisted pyramid, with unseeing eyes that judged him for failing them.

Lenalee, Krory, Miranda, Johnny, Komui.

And the Earl was smiling, grinning eerily down at him from the very top of the hill of corpses. His pointed shoes dug into Chouji's face. And the corpse, his expression angry even in death, didn't move.

"Fourteenth!" the Earl sang, twirling his golem umbrella through the air in glee.

Allen, tragic lonely Allen, gritted his teeth, begging for the tears to stop falling. He needed to focus on getting vengeance for his friends, for Mana, for everyone that had been hurt by the fat false-clown before him.

"Moyashi," Kanda growled as he reached up to briskly wipe away a stream of blood from his forehead.

"We need to get away, Allen," Lavi informed the two remaining exorcists. "We're out numbered."

"You want to leave them here? You want to flee like cowards as our comrades are left behind!" Allen roared, his right hand gripped his Sword of Exorcism tightly.

"There are twelve of them and three of us, Allen!" Lavi shouted, throwing a despairing look over at the irritated Swordsman. "We need to leave and regroup!"

"You can go," Allen snarled. "I'll stay behind and save my friends."

"They're dead!" Lavi yelled. "They're dead," he whispered. "You can't save them."

Allen gritted his teeth. He swore to save humans and akuma, but what about his friends? If he fled, who was going to save them? He didn't want to leave them with the Noah, dead or not. They deserve to be buried, to have the Church honor their sacrifices.

They don't deserve to be left behind as they ran away like cowards.

"Pick your battles, Moyashi," Kanda barked when Allen began to open his mouth again. His teeth clicked together with a snap as he turned to glower at his fellow exorcist.

Allen stopped short at the man's distressed stare. Tears stained his face, mixing with blood left behind from a healing cut.

"They weren't just your friends, you midget clown," Kanda snarled, making a show of not turning around, not looking at the corpses that were drilling empty holes into his back.

Allen quieted down immediately. With one last suffering glance back, he followed after the swordsman.

But, Lavi stayed behind.

Confused, Allen twisted around, searching for his remaining friend.

He spotted him in an instant. The redhead was right behind him, his single eye wide in horror. Slowly, Allen's stare trailed downwards, focusing on the gray arm that speared through his chest, a flower of red spreading around the intruding appendage.

Lavi coughed up blood, splatting on the ground.

Tyki grinned widely over his shoulder, his crazed eyes staring into Allen's horrified pair.

'Your fault,' his stare said. 'If only you were stronger. If only you were better. If only, if only, if only. If only you died that night, if only Mana managed to kill you. They would have lived without the Curse of your friendship. They are dead because of you.'

Allen screamed.

* * *

"Voi, brat, just tell us. I'll let you have half of the cut," Squalo tried to bargain. The other involved members of the Varia, Levi, Lussuria, and a few grunts, watched the interaction with anticipation.

"Ushishishi," Belphegor giggled. "The Prince has more than enough money," the teen assassin informed the swordsman.

Squalo groaned. "Voi, what the fuck do you want then?"

Belphegor gave a sharp grin, but chose not to answer.

Mammon merely ignored their obnoxious betting pool, choosing to count his money a third time, just to be sure that it was enough to pay off Master Cross's debt to the Rosso Family. As a member of the Mafia, Mammon didn't need a past debt to effect his new comrades. It could only lead to fights and damages. Damages that Mammon would have to pull from their pays, including his own.

And no one got between Mammon and his money.

"Voi!" the temporary Boss of the Varia shouted angrily. "Tell us, brat!"

"Muu, Bel, all we want to know is Mammon's gender~" Lussuria pouted, wiggling in his seat. "It's not that big of a deal, is it?"

"Ushishishi, the Prince sees no reason why he should clue the peasants in," Bel informed the gathered grown men imperiously.

Mammon gently stacked a mound of euro, carefully making sure he didn't accidently misplace a single bill.

"Voi, Mammon!" Squalo screeched, standing up from his couch and pointing dramatically at the baby-sized miser. "Tell us your gender and we'll split the pool with you!"

"Mammon is obviously a male," Lussuria purred, his eyes drilling into Mammon's small form from behind his ridiculous glasses.

Levi huffed. "Shows what you know. The baby is obviously a girl, no man would be so delicate looking!" the Lightning Flame of the Varia argued, oblivious to the numerous murderous glares he received from the leaner members of the assassination team.

"Mammon is an interdimensional being that was sent to Earth in an attempt to bankrupt the society and make us indebt to their alien overlord," a red cloaked grunt babbled, his eyes nervously shifting in Mammon's direction as he spoke.

The room was silent as the officers absorbed the man's opinion.

"He means that Mammon's gender neutral?" a blue cloaked grunt amended hesitantly.

"Voi, Brat-Prince, keep your subordinate under control," Squalo ordered after a moment.

"Ushishishi, it would be the Prince's pleasure," he promised, eyeing the clearly insane grunt while he fingered one of his precious knives.

"Mammon, if you would just tell us…" Lussuria trailed off with a whine.

Mammon finally looked up from his money and huffed in amusement, a sound that only Bel seemed to catch. "The amount of money needed for that information would makes America's debt look like pocket change," Mammon stated blandly.

It was tempting, so very tempting, but Mammon needed to have his amusement somehow.

" _He's_ obviously embarrassed that _he_ 's being mistaken for a girl," Lussuria crowed.

"Ha!" Levi snarled. " _She_ obvious thinks this entire bet is an insult to _her femininity!_ "

Mammon blinked, watching as the two idiots whipped out their weapons, Levi unsheathing his umbrella and Lussuria jerkily applying sports tape to his fists.

"Voi!" Squalo roared, interjecting with both his voice and his sword.

"If anyone is going to be mistaken for a woman," Mammon muttered quietly with a glare. "It would be our esteemed Rain Officer."

"Ushishishi," Bel giggled, saddling up to his favorite companion. "Don't mind the peasants, Mammy."

With a sigh, Mammon reached out to thread his small fingers through Belphegor's hair, careful of his precious crown.

Mammon was happy here.

There was no reason to remember the past when he had such wonderful comrades beside him. His life as Allen Walker was far behind him and there was no one who could drag him back into that world.

Don't you agree, Neah?

* * *

 **Yeah, that just happened. It's short, but I'm content with it.**

 **So, this is 'before' cannon. Xanxus is still a ragecicle and Squalo is trying not to kill everyone. There will be a lot of flashbacks to Allen and Viper, but the main 'self' is Mammon.**

 **I have absolutely no idea when I'll update this again, but it's definitely not very high on my priority list.**

 **I hope everyone enjoyed the first chapter!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Welp, that was a big reaction to one chapter. Seriously, 100+ follows and favorites. Holy shit.**

 **I am finally back in action on FF! No idea for how long...but let's enjoy it while it lasts.**

 **I don't own Katekyo Hitman Reborn and D. Gray-Man**

* * *

They stood, quiet.

Before them was a single boulder, carefully carved by their Innocence. Names stood out boldly, cut as deeply into the stone as their absence cut into their hearts.

Allen's eyes were watery, tears streaming down as he choked on his sobs. Another family was burning down around him. Truly, he was a curse on humanity, destroying everything he touched.

Master Cross must have known from the start what he would bring. Allen hated the man, for not ending his misery that night, for not leaving him to rot with Mana.

If he wasn't dead, no one would have suffered because of him. _None of his friends would have died because of him_.

"Moyashi," Allen started, but refused to turn away from the memorial. This was where his friends were. He wanted to stay here, seated before them forever. "Allen," Kanda tried again.

The former Exorcist turned to his remaining comrade, his usually sparkling silver eyes dulled to a tarnished gray. Kanda narrowed his steely pair at the pathetic display. "Man the fuck up, Moyashi," the swordsman hissed.

"How can I?" Allen wondered desolately. "Our friends are dead. The Order is destroyed. The Noah have won, there's nothing else for us."

"What the fuck happened to the cheery little shit that ran around babbling about the power of friendship," Kanda questioned. "The Noah don't win until all of us are dead. You still have the Heart. You still have the damned Noah hiding in your empty head. As long as you have them, they haven't won. And if you tell me that you're going to let their deaths be in vain, I'll just cut out the Heart here and now. There has to be a better welder than a suicidal, idiotic, midget."

Allen's face twisted into a snarl, anger lighting up his eyes. "Don't you dare," he snapped, cradling his Innocence to his chest.

He would never abandon Crown Clown, no matter what. He made a promise, and the white haired martyr never broke his promises.

"Then stand up and live, you damn brat!" Kanda roared, striking out with Mugen. Allen, bewildered and wide-eyed, dodged. He warily watched his comrade, prepared for anymore rage induced attacks. "Live and shove their failure into those fucking Noahs' faces! They failed! We're still alive and the Fourteen is still not snuggling up to that fat clown. Be happy for what you have, not what you have lost." His voice softened, just a little bit, as he stared down at Allen's tear stained face.

"It's what they would have wanted, Allen," he assured the younger Exorcist.

"Yeah," he agreed. "They would want me to live. They would want _us_ to live." He reached up and brushed away his tears, the water being absorbed by his ever present gloves. He turned to gaze fondly at the names that would mark the stone forever.

"If you're done being a cry baby," Kanda cut through the silence. "We should split up. The Noah will have an easy time finding us if we are together. Plus," he added with a scoff. "I can't stand to look at your damn face much longer."

Allen stared up at his comrade. "Kanda…?" he trailed off uncertainly.

The swordsman continued, ignoring the scarred teen. "Don't try to find me, Moyashi."

Allen opened his mouth to argue.

Kanda heard none of it.

He never saw the swordsman again.

* * *

"Mammy!" Belphegor whined, kicking open the door to the illusionist's personal room. "Mammy, wake up!"

Mammon grumbled, shuffling around in his too-large bed. He cracked an eye open, sliding his silver gaze over the Prince's fringe. "What is it, Bel?" he murmured, slowly sitting up. He reached up, rubbing his crusted eyes sleepily.

"Ushishishi, we have a mission, Mammy!" Belphegor cheered, throwing himself onto the large bed, narrowly avoiding falling on top of the baby miser. Mammon sighed, but shuffled off the bed, wobbling over to his small closet. Snagging his blue cloak, he clipped it on and turned back to his companion.

Bel was watching his actions intently, a slasher's smile stretched across his boyish face. "Do you know what Squalo wants us to do?" he wondered, reaching out a hand for Fantasma to hop onto. The frog blinked up at him, ribbiting once with a slow blink.

"Shishi, the peasant wants the Prince to _convince_ the Alfieri Family to cease and desist," Bel giggled, levering himself up. He swaggered up to the baby, a knife lazily spinning in his right hand.

"They have been hounding the Beccio Family lately," Mammon noted. "Nono would never tolerate them attacking an allied Family like that. However," Mammon narrowed his eyes at the Prince, whose smile widened in response. "That does not explain why you need me as well. You are more than capable of dealing with them yourself."

"Because Mammy is the best at scaring people!" Bel laughed. Mammon opened his mouth to snap at the boy, but the blond reached out, gently running his spidery fingers through the baby's dyed locks. The Mist Arcobelano blinked in shock, staring at the teen in bewilderment.

"I'm not your personal boogey-man, Bel," he stated softly. Bel just continued to pet him, humming happily to himself. "But, I will go. I'm sure I can _convince_ the Alfieri Family that I will leave them alone for a small fee."

Belphegor pulled his hand free and tugged the cloak's hood over Mammon's head, hiding his piercing silver eyes and vibrant red scar. "That's the spirit, Mammy!" he snickered. "Those peasants won't be able to move when we're done with them."

Mammon rolled his eyes, but silently lifted his arms. Bel grinned, lifting the baby to rest on his usual spot on the Prince's shoulder. The teen leaned his head against his companion's warm body, his hidden eyes fluttering slightly at the familiar contact.

"Lead the way," the miser stated, amused, as the blond carried him out of his room.

They glided out of the Varia Headquarters without a word, simply enjoying each others company. Outside, Bel paused, glancing left and right in annoyance.

"What's wrong, Bel?" Mammon asked, following the teen's gaze.

"The Prince doesn't know where to go," he admitted.

Mammon chuckled, thinking a piece of paper into existence. "Just give me a name."

At least he wasn't the one getting lost all the time any more.

* * *

 **I should probably make a note that this story ignores a lot of D. Gray-Man cannon. The story will probably be explained further in the 'past' part of the chapters, but I'm warning now that some facts for D. Gray-Man will be thrown aside. Like the fact Allen is over 30 and such.**

 **Is this something Kanda would say? I don't know, but I love it anyway.**

 **Ah, I'm probably gonna keep Bel and Mammon platonic. I just find them really cute. On that note...tell me what pairing you want/if you want a pairing and I'll see which one works best with what I'm thinking of?**

 **Note: this Allen/Mammon (Almond) is a lot older than Skullen. (His name is gonna be Almond, unless someone thinks of something better...)**

 **Also, why is Bel so hard to write, dammit. Ughhhh.**

 **(Next chapter will have their mission, which will be fun, I promise.)**

 **Guest Reviews:**

 **Aredboxwhitapan – Haha, I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far! Here ya go~**

 **Odd Thought – Haha, true~**

 **Guest-mamushi – That really depends on if you think Cross is dead (or been dead for long. Cause, really, when he's eighty and dying we all know he's still gonna be swaggering into the club and leaving with a girl on each arm). Plus, technicalities like that never stopped Cross before. Jasdevi, anyone? Not to mention interest... Also, according to my research, 100 guineas equals about $135. However, there's also the fact that in Victorian England an average wage was anywhere between 3-10 shillings. Depending on the decade, 21-36 shillings equaled 1 guinea. 'Allen' owed _hundreds, maybe thousands_ of guineas. Plus, he has to pay for his care, whatever the hell the Varia fucks up, etc. I wouldn't put it passed Cross to pass the duty of screwing with his apprentice onto someone else as well. Like, brag in a large bar that he sends all of his debts to a stupid brat that pays without a question as long as his name is on it...(Sorry for rambling...)**

 **Anyway, I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter! Till next time~**


	3. Chapter 3

**Ah, warning? Lots of swearing and insults. Yeah, I went to town with this chapter. Sadly, I stopped before I could really get to the gore.**

 **Anyway, I don't own D. Gray Man, Katekyo Hitman Reborn, or the quotes.**

* * *

"My friends are dead," Allen mused, staring despondently into his half-empty cup of tea. "My friends are dead, Bakanda disappeared, Cross is, no surprise, a no show, the Order is in shambles," Allen paused to delicately raise the cup to his lips, taking a slow sip. Sighing, he clinked the drink back onto its saucer plate. He was sitting alone in the back of a pub in Italy, waiting for his next game of poker so he could finally have enough money to skip town. Thankfully, no one nearby spoke English, allowing the England native to indulge in his new habit of talking to himself without repercussions.

"And the tea here is absolute shit," the gentleman snorted, disgusted. "Italians and their coffee..."

Even excluding the dismal tea, the former exorcist was definitely having a bad day. He had woken up to the sound of a prostitute being beaten by a dissatisfied customer. When he left the comfort of his bed to assist the lady, he was spit in the face after cheerfully thrashing the scoundrel. This detour made him late to his first game, leaving him without the extra hundred or so he needed to pay off the bartender. Not to meant that he had been feeling uneasy since his poker game last night. There had been a suited man watching him from the shadows of the pub. Not that the darkness prevented Allen from noticing the gun the man had tucked under his jacket; Master Cross taught him better than that.

But, three games in, all of which he won, and he had yet to see the man again. Yet, he couldn't stop checking the shadows every few minutes.

"What do you think I should do Neah?" Allen mused, looking around the pub again. Of course, his only answer was silence. Like usual.

What was the purpose of having a Noah in his head if Neah wasn't going to _help_?

Allen chuckled bitterly.

Right. The point was to be _devoured_ , his personality destroyed so another may take his place. Since Neah hadn't tried to take him over in years, Allen tended to forget.

"Hey, is this the kid, Matteo?" a rough voice asked, far too close for the Noah host's comfort. He looked up sharply, coming face to face with five suited men, one being the man from the shadows. Checking around, Allen noted that the patrons that hadn't fled were watching the men with horror and him with pity.

"Yeah, that's him," Matteo grunted. The first man hummed, dissatisfied, as if Allen had disappointed him. In fact, all of the suited men, other than Matteo, seemed to have similarly dismissed him.

Oh, that hurt his ego.

"Is there something I can help you with, sir?" Allen smiled up at the leader of the group, making an effort to appear as unthreatening as he could. Not that it was hard, all things considered. After being on the run from the Noahs for nearly half a year, the former exorcist had no doubt he looked more like an abused puppy than any kind of threat.

"Listen, you're new to town, right kid?" the leader started. When Allen opened his mouth to confirm, the man bulldozed over him. The white haired teen frowned. Rude. "We're just gonna give you some friendly advice, a'ight?"

The man paused for Allen to respond. Still frowning, he nodded.

"This is Pompilio Family territory. That means go back to whatever shitty Family you came from before we have to _ship_ you back to them— in separate boxes, if you know what I mean."

Allen nodded politely, completely understanding what the man meant. He just really didn't appreciate the fact these men were threatening him so blatantly.

From the sound of it, they were Mafia, probably from a small Family trying to make big time. While traveling with Master Cross, Allen had met all sorts of Mafioso. He had to admit, these were the least impressive bunch he had ever had the misfortune of running into.

"Good," the man smirked, pleased. "Then Alessandro can escort you to the territory line and we can all go about our lives."

Allen blinked. He wondered if he should be offended by how the Mafioso had written him off, even though they seemed to believe he was a representative from some encroaching Family. Was he that pathetic looking or were they that cocky?

"Oh, it seems there has been a bit of a misunderstanding," Allen smiled welcomingly. The Mafioso shifted in confusion as their leader's eyebrows creased. "I nodded because I understood what you were implying. That does not mean I have agreed to leave. I have one more night that my hotel, and I have no intention of letting my money going to waste. I'll be more than happy to walk away tomorrow, but until then, it was nice speaking with you gentlemen." Allen stood gracefully, shorter than the Mafioso but no less menacing.

"Brittunculi bastard," the leader gritted between clenched teeth as he reached under his suit jacket. Allen's smile dimmed a little when the leader whipped out a cheap .38 pistol. "I don't think you understand your situation here." The Mafioso pressed the gun to the target-like red pentagram, loudly clicking off the safety.

The former exorcist sighed, feeling a distantly familiar shifting in the back of his mind as his uncle noticed the cold weight pressing against his precious nephew's forehead.

"And here I was hoping we could talk this out like sensible men," Allen muttered. "Very well then."

Between one blink and the next, Allen was falling into the darkness as Neah gently nudged him aside.

" _The only people in this infested world who should kill…are those prepared to be killed,"_ Allen heard before the wintery world inside his mind bled grey and he fell asleep.

A Cheshire cat grin spread across his face as golden eyes stared his attackers down.

" _Do not fear, my good men. It'll just hurt a little. I would know. After all, I've already died."_

* * *

Mammon sighed, watching the small time Mafioso writhe on the ground in horror. He rested his pudgy check on a fist as he floated cross-legged, mentally checking over the illusions as he stared down.

There was something about tentacle monsters that really got to people, leaving them catatonic on the floor, vulnerable to the true monsters.

Well, tentacle monsters and being eaten alive.

Thankfully, Mammon's former life as an exorcist was very helpful, allowing him to utilize his illusions realistically. How many people alive could accurately replicate the feeling of being devoured or having your heart torn apart?

There he went, always looking for the silver lining.

"Ushishishi," Belphegor snickered, grinning down at Mammon's newest batch of victims. The disgraced Prince had yet to do anything since the pair arrived at the Alfieri Family's manor, choosing to merely watch the Arcobelano work his magic.

Mammon didn't mind. This way, there was less bloodshed.

Though, he realized, if he continued to waste time lazing around like a certain Prince, the pair would be late for dinner. And that was unacceptable.

Reaching towards his Flames, Mammon pulled them back, allowing his victims a moment of sanity.

"Wha-what do you wa-want, mon-monster?" one of them, Don Alfieri, stuttered, his pale blue eyes flickering around the large room, as if searching for a nameless monster. One that just so happened to have a love of cigarettes and top hats.

Mammon was nothing if not diligent to his duty of protecting humanity from the Noah. A healthy dose of fear should keep the Alfieri Family from ever becoming one of the fat oaf's pawns.

"Cease and desist your petulant attacks against the Vongola Family," the Mist user ordered monotonously, his attention already focused on what the chef's would cook up for the Varia. He really hoped there was some torrone.

"You crazy Vongola _dogs_ ," Don Alfieri spat, gathering up his wits enough to stop shaking. Still, his eyes jumped around the room, watching the shadows intently."Following after the Big Boss like a _bitch in heat._ What kind of _fucking_ _half-baked_ assassins are you?!"

Mammon blinked in surprise, an act hidden by his hood. Belphegor's reaction was not as mild.

"Did you say something, _peasant?_ " Bel muttered, his head tilted in question.

The Arcobelano didn't believe the calm for a second.

"I said, fuck your batshit crazy Family, you Vongola _pussi-"_ Don Alfieri toppled over, a blade buried in his left eye.

"Kaching," the Bloody Prince clicked his tongue, his knives spread along his fingers.

"I hope the rest of you aren't as foolish as your former Boss," Mammon informed his whimpering prey as they stared at the growing pool of red that bloomed under the corpse. "I'm not as nice as Bel."

Carefully, he constructed an illusion, layering it with fear and horror and _desperation_ , throwing in the hanging weight that people were dying and _it was all his fault_. Holding off his own demons, Mammon laced his masterpiece into the minds of his victims, sitting back to watch the show.

It was only a coincidence that he decided to float back to Bel's side, popping down on the Prince's shoulder to wait for one of the Mafioso to crack.

He didn't say anything as the Prince relaxed at his presence, stashing his knives in favor of grabbing the Arcobelano.

A few cuddles was a price Mammon was willing to pay to keep his comrades safe and happy.

* * *

 **This chapter was more fun to write then it should have been.**

 **My violent mood is cause I've been working on Shared Flesh lately…oh well.**

 **Okay, those from Keep Walking, I am not apologizing for this Neah. As much as I love Neah being active and helping Allen out, I really wanted this Neah to be…kinda like Season Zero Yami from YuGiOh. Two personalities can't be active in the body at the same time without ramifications. In order to protect Allen, Neah spends all of his time asleep, unless he notices a threat against his beloved nephew. However, when he moves to take over, Allen falls asleep, so our favorite exorcist really has no idea what happens when Neah is in control. Sometimes he ends up in different towns/countries/continents and sometimes he wakes up in the middle of a massacre…I** _ **like**_ **this Neah. He's psychotic and insane, but he really cares about Allen. Both because he's his host body and because of Mana.**

 **I hope none of my Italian readers are annoyed with my lack of information. Personally, I get a good laugh out of stories that have snide comments about the U.S., but I'm not sure if everyone else is a laid back as I am concerning insults (Not that I would consider what I wrote really insults?). From what my research has shown, Italy is more known for its coffee products. While tea is slowly becoming more popular, it is considered a 'comfort' drink or a health drink, and is served with lemon juice. Also, I'm not implying that all parts/towns of Italy have their own little mafia families hanging around to mess shit up. Allen just has a lot of bad luck. And, he probably got lost in Italy and wound up in a bad part of town. Allen Stuff. (Awkward Rose is very awkward.)**

 **Yes, I used modified quotes for Neah's introduction speech. I kinda wanna see if anyone can guess where they're from? It's two completely different fandoms, though.**

 **Brittunculi – a Latin insult from a Roman official during Hadrian's rule, meaning 'wretched little Britons'. It was literally the only insult that I could find from Italy specific to the British. I don't care if it's not actually used or if no one would find it insulting. Imma use it proudly (and hope no one gets offended by it.) (It really doesn't sound insulting, or is that just me? Fuck it. My Mafioso are CULTURED.)**

 **Torrone – an Italian** **candy made of honey, sugar, and egg white, with toasted almonds or hazelnuts. I noticed that Allen, and Mammon, have a love of sweet things...**

 **Alternatives to the name Almond: Mammal (suggested by Glaindy) and Wiper (suggested by kylC).**

 **(Ah, is anyone annoyed with the info dumps? Sorry bout that…)**

 **Guest Reviews:**

 **Guest (1)– I'll keep that in mind then! Thanks for telling me!**

 **S – Haha, I wasn't back for long, unfortunately. Thankfully, I've settled down again and the drama llama train has passed by, so I should be updating a lot more. I'm glad you enjoyed the name and the interactions so far! Yeah, this Allen is going to be even more tragic and broken than usual. Because I'm a monster that enjoys tormenting him. Pish, Cross is immortal. If he hasn't died from alcohol poisoning or the STDs, I doubt something a plebian as old age/Apocryphos is gonna do him in.**

 **XD – Don't mind me, just whistling along completely unsuspiciously. (How did you** _ **know**_ **)**

 **Sleepy – Yup, Kanda will appear again, just not for a while and not how he might be expected. Mammon's hiding it with makeup and/or illusions. Whichever is more convenient at the moment (Usually illusions. I'll try to make that more obvious in the following chapters). Fon sounds good! I'm debating mainly between Fon and Reborn at the moment (unless I think of a strong point for someone else). Reborn cause snark and Fon because kindness. (Tell me I'm not the only one that wants Almond and Reborn to have a snark fight in the middle of an important battle.) Ah…while this story will probably ignore some D Gray Man cannon, Tim is still 'dead'. But, I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far!**

 **Guest (2) – Haha, that's good! It's definitely gonna be a reoccurring theme.**

 **I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter! Till next time!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Surprise! I'm back again. Bet you weren't expecting me.**

 **Anyway, I don't own Katekyo Hitman Reborn or D. Gray Man**

* * *

When Allen opened his eyes, there was a man in his hotel room.

A familiar man, still wearing his fancy pressed suit and dark sunglasses. The same man that pointed a gun to his head before Neah made an appearance.

Allen watched him for a moment, taking in how roughed up he was. His suit was ripped, shredded to mere scraps. Blood covered him from head to toe.

The exorcist in hiding tried to ignore the man's missing eyes, gaping holes visible over the top of the slipping sunglasses. He failed. He had to look away, unable to stand the blank emptiness that met his stare.

The blinded Mafioso was tied to the hotel room's desk chair, the same chair Allen used for his morning exercises. Only the quick rising and falling his chest rested the exorcist-in-hiding's concern that his uncle decided to parade around a corpse to show off. Again.

What on Earth had Neah been thinking this time?

"You awake yet, brat?" the Mafioso croaked. Allen started, the loud rustling of sheets answering the question before he even needed to open his mouth. The Mafioso continued. He laughed bitterly, his head swinging around as he tried to follow the sound. "Your guardian angel is scary as fuck, kid," he complimented.

"I am sorry, sir," Allen muttered. "I did try to be civil…"

"Yeah, that demon mentioned something like that. 'Threatening his pure nephew,' or some shit. I don't really care," the man sighed, finally deciding to just tilt his head against the back of the chair. "He said he'd let me go if I teach you about Flames." Allen was quiet. "He's not going to let me go, is he?"

"No," Allen admitted. "Neah will kill you."

The Mafioso laughed again, manically this time. "Might as well do what he says then!"

"It will probably make it less painful," the host of Neah confirmed. "Neah is kinder to those that help me."

"The full name for Flames, brat, are Dying Will Flames. There are seven Flames, Sky, Storm, Mist, Lightning, Rain, Sun, and Cloud. I'm a Lightning Flame. From what I've seen, you're a Mist Flame," the Mafioso explained. "Each Flame has its own advantages and disadvantages, their own expectations. For you, Mist Flames are indigo and are one of the two Flames that comes in two different types that a User can manipulate. Soft Flame and Hard Flames. Soft Flames are considered easier to control and are used more for attacking with speed. Most Mist Users prefer Soft Flames. Hard Flames are, well, harder. Slower and stronger, it's good for a thin defense. Mist Flames attack sanity more than the target's physical form. As such, most Mist Users are weak offensively, relying solely on their illusion. It goes so far to be a matter of pride," the man explained.

Allen listened intently, trying to absorb as much as he could about this mysterious new power Neah noticed. Slowly, he constructed a plan, one to stay out of sight but still keep his promise to Mana.

"Instead of physical strength, Mist Users exercise their imagination. The User with better mental stability and a more elaborate imagination will win any fight against a fellow Mist," the Mafioso canted his head, taking in Allen's attentive silence. "Any questions, brat?"

"What, exactly, are 'Dying Will Flames', sir?" Allen asked promptly.

The Mafioso sighed. "You got to ask the hard questions, don't you, kid?" Before Allen could apologize, the man continued. "Dying Will Flames can best be described as your inner self. Usually, a person's Flame is inherited from one of their parents, but my father's a Sun and my mother's a Storm – Flames represent who you are and who you will be. If you're religious, think of Flames as your soul. Your super-powered soul that can break a man's mind faster than you can blink. But, I think you already have that in spades."

The teen hoped he would remember everything after it was all said and done. Neah had held off on his usual murderous rampage so that he could be taught. He didn't want to put his homicidal uncle's thoughtful efforts to waste.

"Start practicing slowly," the Mafioso advised. "Choose one thing to have a continuous illusion. Never let it waver. It'll exercise your stamina and your imagination." He was breathing heavily, his skin pale from blood loss. Allen politely didn't mention the large puddle of blood staining the hotel's carpet.

"Now," the Mafioso's head bobbed and his voice fluttered. He shakily cleared his throat and tried again. "Now, I want you to try and- and call up your Flames. You need to search within yourself for a warm spot, a power that breathes with you."

Allen closed his eyes, attempting to follow the Mafioso's directions. He reached deep, feeling Crown Clown's sudden attention at his exploration. His consciousness softly brushed against the calm green energy, exciting the Innocence. With Crown Clown trailing behind, Allen searched deeper, ignoring the Dark Matter that cocooned Neah's sleeping form.

Crown Clown mentally nudged its wielder, directing him past the Noah. Allen followed, not yet seeing anything but trusting his Innocence to guide him.

He looked around, finding nothing.

With a snap, the world exploded into an indigo bonfire.

Allen jolted into awareness, a scream caught in his throat.

The Mafioso chuckled. "Found it, huh?" He coughed once, twice, red spittle dripping down his chin. He grinned, baring his blood stained teeth to the teen. "Seems you don't need me anymore, brat."

"May I know your name, sir?" Allen asked, a gentle smile directed at the sightless man. He could already feel Neah stirring, jarred by the activation of his Flames.

The Mafioso tilted his head, his empty eye sockets judging Allen. The Noah host nearly fidgeted as the time ticked by.

"Arturo De Luca," the Mafioso answered. "From the Pompilio Family."

"It was nice to meet you, Mr. De Luca," Allen stated faintly. He closed his eyes submissively, tired and ready to sleep once again.

Maybe…maybe he could go apologize to Arturo's Family. It would be the least he could do, after everything Neah did. Besides, he had the destructive Noah on his side if it turned out badly.

" _Good boy,"_ Neah purred, his gold eyes glowing as he stared at the Mafioso. " _Best teacher."_

"Go to hell, demon," Arturo spat, his jaw clenching in his hatred for the other half of the kind child.

" _You first,"_ the Fourteenth Noah sang as he plunged his fist into Arturo's chest, his fingers piercing the man's heart in one swift blow. " _My precious Allen still needs me. Unlike someone I won't mention."_

Neah stared at the body for a moment before glancing around the rest of the hotel room.

" _The Pompilio Family, my beloved nephew?"_ he mused, standing. He stalked towards the exit, ready to carry out Allen's final thoughts.

He grinned sharply.

" _So you have wished it, so it shall be."_

* * *

"Voi! What the fuck, brat prince!" Squalo screamed, waving his bladed arm around. Mammon's floating form bobbed nonchalantly out of the way when the sword came close to chopping his head off. "I sent you to get the Alfieri Family to back off! Instead, you return with a corpse!"

"Ushishishi, the peasants won't act up again, the Prince promises," Bel laughed, nudging at the corpse he dropped in front of the commander when he arrived with his booted foot. "They were far too weak."

Mammon wondered if Verde would be interested in checking Squalo's blood pressure at the expense of one of the favors the other Arcobelano owed the miser. That shade of red can't be healthy for the commander.

"VOI!" Squalo shrieked. "The mission said 'threaten'! Not 'stab-the-asshole-until-he-stops-twitching'!"

"The Prince only needed to stab the peasant once before he was quiet," Bel corrected proudly.

"Bel~" Lussuria purred, staring at the blond teen from his reclining position on a nearby cough. "You can't just kill everyone that annoys you~" He warned.

"It creates paperwork," Mammon interjected. "Paperwork and bills. My least favorite combination."

"Exactly!" Lussuria exclaimed. "We don't want our favorite _male_ Mist trapped in the office all day, it's a waste of…talent~" he cooed, watching the transformed baby from over his glasses.

Mammon felt dirty.

"If only we had someone _less important_ do the paperwork in Mammon's place~" Lussuria hinted, his piercing stare shifting over to the lazy Lightning Guardian, who merely flipped a page of his magazine.

"Yes, someone who refuses half of their missions and creates over half of the paperwork all by himself, forcing our delicate _female_ Mist to seclude _herself_ away," Levi stated, bored.

" _Excuse me, you miserable lump of putrid flesh_?" Lussuria hissed, his yellow Flames lighting up his eyes, burning his glasses.

Mammon sighed, mentally marking down a cut from Lussuria and Levi's pay for the designer glasses that he would need to replace. For the fifth time that week.

"You heard me, you – you walking fashion disaster!" Levi boomed, throwing himself to his feet as he unsheathed a bladed umbrella.

"You take that back!" Lussuria screeched, lifting his fists towards his face as he bounced on the balls of his feet.

"Voi! Both of you sit your asses back down! I can't deal with your bullshit and the pile of corpses at the same time without adding to the fatality list!" Squalo shouted, flailing his blade-arm threateningly at his subordinates. At his firm glare, the two Guardians threw themselves back onto their separate couches with a huff and growl.

"Boss would have agreed with me~" Lussuria muttered, pouting.

The entire room froze.

Mammon's gaze sharpened, focused on the uncomfortable looks of his comrades.

It wasn't the first time he had heard about the Boss, Xanxus Vongola. Usually, the name was whispered behind closed doors, like the youngest son of Nono was a bogeyman just waiting to be called into being. As he had been welcomed after the infamous Cradle Affair, the Arcobelano had the misfortune of never meeting the war machine of a man.

However, this was the first time so many of his former subordinates were around while he was mentioned. And their reactions were disheartening.

Squalo was silenced immediately, as if someone had pressed his mute button. Lussuria flinched, realizing his mistake while Levi choked out a disheartening sob.

And Bel's smile _dropped_ , disappearing like it _never existed_ in the first place.

Mammon's hidden eyes narrowed dangerously. He refused to allow his precious comrades to be unhappy. They were _all_ _he had left_.

"You're grounded, shitty Prince," Squalo croaked When Bel moved to argue, the Rain Commander fixed tired eyes on the Prince's fringe. "For messing up a mission. Go to your room and think over your mistakes."

"Mammy," Bel murmured, snatching the Mist out of the air as he bowed to Squalo's command and fled the room.

Mammon checked over Bel's shoulder as they left, watching as the three commanders slumped, exhausted and saddened.

He had no doubt that in mere minutes the Rain Commander would beat Lussuria's ass for bring up such a topic; but for now, they allowed themselves a moment of weakness for the Sky they pledged their lives to.

The Arcobelano grinned.

He had an idea.

A wonderful, beautiful idea.

Allen Walker could never stand for his friends being upset.

Mammon, unfortunately, inherited that unwavering loyalty.

He just needed to visit his library and an old acquaintance or two.

* * *

 **Good bye Arturo, we barely knew thee.**

 **If anyone is wondering how Neah or Arturo noticed the Flames, it's going to be explained eventually.**

 **I'm liking this Allen. He struggles a lot more, as he only has a homicidal uncle and Timcampy to support him. He's walking into everything completely blind. Mammon is the end result for Allen's blunderings.**

 **Haha, I did it again. I like using modified quotes for Neah, it's fun. (Last time was Lelouch from Code Geass and a _highly_ modified quote from Harry Potter. "Bow to death, Harry. It might even be painless. I wouldn't know. I have never die," from Voldemort vs. "Do not fear, my good man. It will only hurt a little. I would know. I have already died," from Neah. I'm not sorry.)**

 **So, I did some research on Mist Flames and their Users. Apparently, they have a habit of latching onto a greater purpose, like Chrome's dedication to Mukuro and Mukuro's hatred of the mafia. Tsuna, possibly as their Sky, helped them through that, kinda. Mammon doesn't really have a Sky yet (we don't talk about Luce here), and Allen is fiercely dedicated to anyone he sees as his comrade. Yeah, Mammon's obsession is his friends, mainly Bel at the moment. (And everything is suddenly explained). Note that this is more a fandom understanding of Flames (I think?), so if you don't wanna follow that train of thought, you really don't have to. It's not required for the story to make sense.**

 **(Shit in the past really starts going down next chapter…)**

 **Guest Reviews:**

 **guest – Haha, thanks! I'm glad you're enjoying it so far!**

 **Yuki Shiro – Okay, your pleas have convinced me. Timcampy will survive. We should see him briefly next chapter.**

 **KK – Haha, thanks! I'm glad you're enjoying it so far!**

 **Anyway, I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Ah, disturbing images and vague gore in the first half. Kinda? I don't even know what counts as disturbing images to other people half the time. As long as no one messes with fingers/finger nails and eyes, I'm generally okay, so...I dunno.**

 **I don't own D Gray Man or Katekyo Hitman Reborn.**

* * *

Unfortunately, Allen was more than used to awaking up in the middle of a massacre. Considering his protective, insane Noah uncle that lived inside his head and his complete inability to stay out of trouble, the runaway was no longer surprised when he woke up surrounded by dead or dying bodies.

He was not, however, used to waking up surrounded by living, uninjured enemies.

He checked around the room, taking in his surroundings with a clinical eye. A Brazilian rosewood desk was in splinters, almost broken behind recognition. There were smashed remains of a head resting in the center, the body of the corpse hanging over the side of the desk, the butt firmly seated in a throne-like chair. More bodies were scatter across the bloodstained, polished ebony African wood floors.

All of them showed signs of being beaten to death, a few with blood-crusted holes from bullets – friendly fire no doubt. Neah did not like guns, after all.

Allen frowned, but only sighed. He couldn't control his Noah Uncle and he couldn't stop others from deciding to attack him. It was a shame that so many had to die at Neah's hands, but he was usually able to give them a warning before the Noah struck.

Allen wondered if Neah gave them a warning before slaughtering them.

Of course, the runaway exorcist looked up last, having checked everywhere else for a hint as to what Neah had landed him in this time.

 _'They were not pure enough for you, my precious nephew.'_

Allen eyed the red words written on the vaulted ceiling, pieces quickly coming together. He had no illusions that the message was written in blood, his psychotic uncle was just that dramatic.

And far too possessive.

But, at least Allen knew where he was now. He hoped the rest of Arturo's Pompilio Family had escaped the Noah's jealous wrath.

His investigation completed, Allen turned to the polite gentlemen that allowed him a moment to gather his bearings.

"Good afternoon," he greeted, his steely eyes scanning the three strangers. He had to admit, they looked snazzy, with their black coats and cravats. While the bandages were a bit unnerving, Allen recalled a finder that had a vaguely similar fashion sense. But, damn, he wanted one of those hats. "How many I help you?"

"Allen Walker, I presume?" one of the completely covered gentlemen stepped forward, his voice raspy and deep. Like bones drumming against cement, an army of skeletons raising from their graves to bring judgement upon the wicked. Allen blinked.

Admittedly, that got away from him real fast.

"Yes, that is me," Allen chuckled nervously, noting how the three strangers did not flinch away from the corpses. One went so far as to stealthily prod a body with the toe of their shoe, as if making sure they were actually dead. "Might I know your names?"

"We are the Vindice. That is all you need to know," the gentleman stated. Allen assumed the man was looking around the room, taking in the scene, as his head turned left and right. "We are familiar with your work, Allen Walker."

"Oh," Allen startled once he caught onto the meaning. Were they also Mafioso? Maybe some of Arturo's Family did somehow survive Neah. That would be a first. Though, he was still just going to call them the Skeleton Army. It sounded better than 'Vindice'. Honestly, that was as silly as calling yourselves 'The Avengers'. "Ah, you see…"

Now, how to explain to these nice, if apparently overdramatic, gentlemen that it was the uncle he never met who lived inside his head that killed these men?

"We appreciate your uncle's work less, however," the gentleman continued. "Outsiders slaughtering an entire Famiglia – it's rather unprecedented."

Allen had to let out a sigh of relief. At least he wasn't going to be accused of murder…again. That was an awkward trip to Russia.

Everything was so much easier when others knew about his homicidal uncle.

He bowed respectfully, his face solemn. "I apologize for what my uncle has done to you or your compatriots."

"So polite," the gentleman mused, his voice nearly dipping into amusement. "Unfortunately, even with your impeccable manners, we cannot permit you or your uncle to go free. You killed over a hundred Mafioso, after all. The law must be upheld."

"I know Master always said I would find my way into a jail cell one day, but I thought it would be for something…minor. Extortion or grave robbing, maybe," Allen muttered to himself, straightening up with a sigh. He eye-balled the nearest top-hat as the owner chortled faintly.

"Quite," the gentleman droned. "While I am sure you would enjoy your stay at Vendicare, Allen Walker, the Vindice has a more profitable proposal for you. How would you feel about a job under the Demons of the Underworld?"

A familiar spark ignited in the former exorcist's eyes. _This_ is what he was missing; a _purpose._ A challenging sharp smile spread across Allen's lips, his body naturally shifting into a more battle ready stance. The child soldier could _taste_ a fight in the air, a promise of combat.

He _had_ been feeling rusty after six months of disuse. Weapons were meant to be _used._

Allen thought he saw the gentleman's blank face, covered by the bandages as it was, twist into a predatory smirk.

"You would be our snake in the grass, Allen Walker," the man continued. "In exchange for your freedom, you would be our personal Viper. I hope this agreement will meet your own purposes as well."

"Mutual benefit; you use me and I use you?" Allen concluded, smiling genially at the still nameless gentleman. "Who am I to refuse such a generous offer?"

* * *

"Where did I put it?" Mammon muttered, annoyed. He knew he had a book from his old employers about the abilities of Flames, there was no way he would have left it behind. It was far too useful and valuable to leave in their badly bandaged hands.

The hard part was finding it in the rest of his collection of seemingly random objects.

Mammon huffed, tossing a pair of fake bunny ears over his shoulder. Fantasma, watching their master flounder about, croaked as the ears nearly hit them, flying just barely over their tiny form.

The illusionist tsked, but respected his partner and delicately placed the assortment of red bangle anklets behind him instead of throwing them.

"Some people lose hair elastics or pens," Mammon snarled, "But no, I manage to lose the Grimoire of Flames. I feel like I'm fifteen years old again, searching for Master. Is that him? Oh, no, it's _A Collection of Shakespeare's_ _Finest!_ Easy mistake, easy mistake. They both make you feel like an idiot!"

Fantasma croaked in reprimand, wiggling their butt to launch themself at Mammon's head. They stomped their webbed foot twice against his skull.

The Arcobelano sighed, obeying the silent command. He took another deep breath, closed his eyes, and let it all out in a large gust. He repeated the gesture thrice before his shoulders slumped.

"I don't know Xanxus," he admitted. Fantasma petted their master's hair soothingly, urging him to continue. "But I know the Varia. And if Xanxus makes them happy, then so be it. I will rise him from the _bloody_ _grave_ if I must."

"Cra," Fantasma soothed.

"You're right, of course," Mammon muttered, closing his eyes tightly. "I might have to ask them for help. I just can't escape, can I?"

"Cr-cra," Fantasma tried to reason.

"They're going to hold it over me for years, again," he huffed, a dark cloud of doom forming over his head. "It's hard enough with Master Cross's debt, I don't want to owe them anymore than I usually do."

Not that Mammon knew _how_ Cross's debt kept increasing. He was starting to suspect a conspiracy.

"Cra!" the transformed frog cried, waving his webbed hands around as he caught sight of the distinctive cover. The Arcobelano ignored it, choosing to shuffle through the messy chaos of his collection. The frog tried again, slapping their master's head to get his attention.

"That's starting to get annoying, Tim," Mammon snapped, pointedly flicking his finger at the frog. Fanstama morphed, going from a forest green frog to a shiny, gold ball of winged fury. The transformation was a blink-and-you-miss-it transition, but Mammon didn't waste time with awe. He had years to get used to the mechanics of his Flames, there was no need for gawking anymore.

Freed from his annoying amphibious alternate form, Timcampy bit Mammon's head to get the brat's attention. It was revenge for making the frog his default shape instead of the much sleeker yellow reptile. Well, that and for not listening when he was trying to help. So ungrateful.

"Ouch, Tim, quit that!" the illusionist barked, batting gently at the golem. He pouted when the winged orb finally let go. Tim flew around the baby with an eerie smile, displaying his threateningly pointy teeth. "Yeah, you made your point. What's got your tail in a twist, Tim?"

Timcampy flew off, hovering over a stack of books meaningfully. Mammon gave the golem a blank stare of incomprehension.

Tim desperately wished he had hands. His master always made him want to do one of those face-palms. Frustrated, Timcampy rammed the stack, knocking over the priceless books.

Mammon cried out in dismay, leaping forward to salvage his precious, well-maintained collection.

"Bad Timcampy," he scolded with a sigh, hanging his head in defeat. This is what he got for holding onto his Master's golem. Mammon shuffled around the pile of books, carefully re-stacking them as he checked to make sure none were damaged.

Surprisingly, none of the books were terribly scratched. He only had to wince once when he reached the bottom of the pile, spotting a book cracked open, its pages yellowed with spidery text flowing across the paper.

That could _not_ be good for the spine.

Carefully, Mammon lifted the open book, taking in the hand-written words absently as he eased it shut.

' _The Flames of the Sky transcend humanity, powers of heaven bestowed upon only the worthy. The chosen few are warriors of God and must fight for his divine will, to purge the world of evil that lurks in the corners of the shadows,'_ he read.

"Timcampy, I could kiss you," Mammon chuckled, holding the ancient book out to stare in glee at the bejeweled cover. As much as he wanted to press it closer, to hug it to his chest in hopes of merging with the writings, the tome was larger than his transformed body.

It was going to be so uncomfortable moving it around.

Timcampy grinned, displaying his teeth proudly.

"Don't get so conceited, you overgrown orange," Mammon huffed. The last thing he needed was for Tim to get a big head. Next thing he knew, Tim would be wearing a red wig and tossing back wine like water.

The baby shook his head. He had enough nightmares already, no need to add to it with his overactive imagination.

Now, he smirked, staring down at the tome. Now he needed to get to work. It was research time.

* * *

 **(Should probably read the manga but is too lazy. Proceeds to google the hell out of the Vindice. You can't tell me those are scarves. I refuse.)**

 **The Latin meaning of the word 'Vindice' is protector/defender. Though, justice is considered an acceptable translation as well.**

 **I had a completely different plan. But, I realized that Neah killing everyone would probably grab the attention of the Vindice and everything fell apart after that.**

 **Look me in the eye and tell me Viper isn't a mercenary. I dare you.**

 **Difference between Almond and Skullen – Almond is a** _ **weapon.**_ **Skullen is a** _ **monster.**_ **Weapons are used by others and are reliable but destructive. No one knows when a monster might lash out at the hand that feeds them. Also, monsters crave freedom while weapons are lost without someone pointing them towards a target.**

 **Guest Reviews:**

 **Guest (1) - Haha, you're welcome! I'm glad you enjoyed it! Bel and Mammon are Besties and nothing will ever change that in my mind. I can't wait for someone to try that, though. Is it alright if I snatch that idea and slip it into the story?**

 **Guest (2) - Who's to say the Noah aren't watching the Vatican for any hints of their precious Fourteenth? Who's to say the Vatican aren't hunting down runaway exorcist's for abandoning the Holy War? Or Apocryphos isn't lurking around? It's just easier to pay them off. And, as much as Almond no doubt hates his Master, Cross was one of the two men that raised him. The debts are the only connections he has left to the drunkard General. But, that just might be my opinion on the matter...**

 **KK - I'm glad you're enjoying it! Allen is a very malleable character, it's so much fun to match him up with other characters!**

 **Anyway, I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter!**


	6. Chapter 6

**I'm a bit unsure about this chapter, but I'm going to bed right after I upload this, so I can worry about that in the morning.**

 **I don't own Katekyo Hitman Reborn and D. Gray Man.**

* * *

"Nice place you have here," Allen informed his escorts as they led him through the screaming masses who reached between their bars for a slip of salvation. He didn't even twitch when the tips of one inmate's fingers caressed his snow white hair, a hushed, reverent tone to his whimpers. In fact, his benign smile stretched, gracing the desperate inmate with a moment of peace. The man snatched his hand back, staring down at it in amazement. "You sure you're not planning on shoving me in one of those cells?"

"Your abilities are far more useful on this side of the bars, Allen Walker," the still nameless gentlemen stated, ignoring the prisoners' terrified squeals at the sound of his raspy voice. "We will take you to receive your introductory mission and then you shall be on your way. Your presence is disrupting our inmates."

"Angel," one of the prisoners breathed in awe, his shadowed eyes fixated on Allen's hair. "Angel."

Allen reached up to fidget with his pure locks, musing to himself as the entourage continued forward.

"This way, Allen Walker," the gentlemen beckoned, waving towards a thick metal door. At his motion, the locks clicked ominously, the door creaking open to reveal darkness. It was all rather dramatic and Allen was tempted to politely applaud their efforts.

He stepped forward, the gentleman and his entourage lingering behind, their expectant stares boring into his back. He paused before the shadowy entrance, spinning on his heel to dip into a smooth bow.

"Please take care of me," he requested, looking up between his lashes to see the entourage shift as the prisoners howled, calling for the 'angel'. With one last smile, Allen slipped through the darkness, content with the minor chaos he left behind him.

The door slammed shut once he passed through and the lights flashed on, momentarily blinding the teenager.

"Do that again and we might stick you in with them," a high pitched voice warned as Allen squinted through the bright light.

He paused before responding, taking in the mummy-wrapped toddler seated at an expensive looking desk, two small mountains of paperwork resting on either side of him. He was tempted to look around in search of an adult, but was reminded fiercely of Road. The Noah looked startlingly young until she got serious and started gouging out eyeballs with a dark laugh. While perhaps not as haunting as Road, Allen choose the safe route of treating the professionally dressed toddler with the respect of an adult. He was a gentleman first, a fool second.

Plus, the gentleman-clown was enamored with the baby's top-hat on sight. He really hoped it was a uniform requirement.

Allen smiled genially, easing himself into a chair opposite the dark toddler before replying. "My apologies. I was merely being polite."

The toddler huffed. "Name: Not Announced. Alias: Allen Walker. Birth Parents: Not Announced. Adopted Parents: Mana Walker. Age: 18. Education: Homeschooled, apprentice under M.I.A Exorcist of the Disbanded Black Order, Marian Cross. Abilities: Mist Flames, Innocence Accommodator, Noah Host, Acrobatics, Juggling, Subterfuge. My name is Bermuda Von Veckenschtein."

Allen blinked. "I didn't realize I had a fan," he mused, crossing his legs and peacefully resting his hands on his knee.

Bermuda scoffed. "Spare your remarks for people who think you're actually funny. We have business to discuss and I have no interest in wasting more of my time than necessary on you."

Allen supposed the toddler-sized man had a point. He wouldn't want any distractions if he had so much paperwork waiting for him. He remembered his lesson from Link's break-neck work ethic. There was nothing more boring or timewasting than paperwork. He nodded, keeping his month sealed for the moment.

Bermuda rifled through his papers as he spoke, his wrapped face scrunching up in annoyance. "The Vindice are best known as the police of the mafia world, feared far and wide. We step in when Mafia Law has been broken and the perpetrator, as well as any accomplices, send the rest of their days here, in Vendicare Prison." He paused, holding up a small stack of papers towards the light to read.

"And what do you want with me, Mr. Von Veckenschtein?" Allen asked. It was all well and good to get the general background of the 'Demons of the Underworld', but he wasn't here for a social visit. The gentleman promised him a job, a purpose.

"What do we want from you?" Bermuda repeated, slapping his tiny hand against his desk as he leaned forward threateningly. Allen's only sign of unease was a mild furrow of his brow as a headache started to build, his uncle's attention quipped. "No, Allen Walker. You have become a problem, a problem _I_ have to deal with. You are calling too much attention to yourself, and contrary to your uncle's belief, you are not the center of the universe. I am having enough issues within the mafia to deal with another of his tantrums."

"So?"

" _So,_ " Bermuda sneered. "I am offering you – _you_ , Allen Walker, not your parasitic uncle – an opportunity. Work under my employ, deal with pests, and be my snake, my Reaper, my weapon. I expect your total and complete loyalty for exactly five years. Abandon everything else; your name, your friends, your ambitions, and become my little Viper."

"Only five years?" Allen asked. It was a tempting offer. Allen wasn't strong enough to go take down the Noah yet and he wouldn't risk Kanda by trying to hunt the older man down. He's only other option was to spend the rest of his life wandering, running from his past like the cowardly curse he was. But, if he shed the skin of Allen Walker, leaving it behind, he could keep moving forward, surviving as he always has.

That's all he needed to do. He just needed to keep walking, until his feet bled and his legs broke.

"Only five years," Bermuda confirmed shortly. "You'll have training and support, housing and food, anything you need. All in exchange for missions without pay."

The teenager hummed. The pros of the arrangement seemed to far outweigh the cons, meager as they were. What was selling away his life for a chance to _live again?_ "It seems you have yourself a deal, Bermuda Von Veckenschtein."

Bermuda huffed, satisfied. He slid the stack of paper across his desk, a bright red 'Mission Classified' stamped onto the front. "Welcome to the Vindice, my Viper."

Allen _grinned._ He glided to his feet, bowing elegantly to his new boss.

"Please take care of me," Viper replied.

* * *

"Commander," Mammon called, floating into the Rain Officer's room. His feet were a solid four feet off the ground, his priceless book carefully floating behind him. He would have felt more comfortable carrying the Grimoire, but the weight would have caused him to sink. And waddling into a room really wasn't as intimidating. He had a wonderful reputation of being a gravity-defying, hell spawn –a totally turn-around from his old nickname of 'Angel' – and he really saw no reason to mess with the status quo.

"Voi, what the hell do you want?" Squalo barked, sneering up from over a thick book. His eyes inched back down, tempted by the ink before him even as reality and responsibility demanded his attention.

"Here," Mammon waved the Grimoire over to the Rain Officer. "If you're going to read, at least read something helpful."

"Watch yourself, Arcobelano," Squalo warned, but delicately placed his tome down before reaching out. "What the fuck is this?"

"The Grimoire of Flames," Mammon said. Squalo jolted, choking on his own breath. "I acquired it from my previous employers. Please don't wreck it, it's priceless." He eyed the substitute Commander's white knuckles as his fingers clenched around the book.

"VOI!" the swordsman screeched. Mammon sighed, crossing his arms.

"Are you done yet?" he wondered. Squalo screamed louder, prying one hand away from the Grimoire to flail his arm-sword in his direction. The Arcobelano casually ducked, bobbing as he floated. "I'll leave it to you then. I would start towards the end, though. That's where all of the interesting information is."

Squalo snatched up his couch-side lamp and lobbed it at the baby-sized man.

Mammon flickered as the lamp flew through him, smashing against the dark wood floor. "Rude."

With one last assessing look towards his superior, Mammon left him to his reading. He still had so much to do before the Rain Commander got to the right section of the Grimoire.

Once he reached his own room, Mammon placed himself carefully on his bed. He took a moment, stalling, as he rearranged his pillows to support his back as he leaned back.

Finished, he flipped open his phone, his thumb hesitating over the first number. "Master save me," he muttered, mustering up his will as he pressed down.

The cell rang as he wait for the call to connect, the seconds ticking by before it was answered.

"Vipes? Is that you?" a familiar nasally voice questioned, unfairly cheerful. "I never expected to hear from you today!"

"It's Mammon," the Mist Arcobelano corrected. "I need some help, Skull."

"Whatever you need Nonny!" Skull swore with a muffled snicker. Mammon tilted his head back, gently smacking it on his bedpost.

"Mammon," he repeated. "I am going to need your Flames, Skull."

"Mams, you don't call, you don't text, and this is the greeting I get," the stuntman sobbed. "I'm starting to think you only want me for my Flames."

"Yes," Mammon agreed. "You are the only Cloud Flame I know well enough to trust with this."

"I knew it," Skull muttered. "Aren't you with Vongola now, Mams? Can't you just ask that Guardian of theirs, Biscotti?"

"I work with the Varia," Mammon corrected, ignoring the murder of the Vongola Cloud Guardian's name. "Somehow, I do not believe the Vongola will be very happy with me after this. Or Reborn, for that matter."

"Senpai?" Skull asked. "You're going to piss off Senpai?"

"Probably," the cloaked baby shrugged. For a paranoid bastard obsessed with his hair, Reborn was rather friendly with the Vongola family. Plotting to release an heir who tried to overthrow Nono would not put Mammon in the 'the World's Greatest Hitman's' good books.

"Why didn't you open with that, Mams?" Skull shrieked. "I'll be there in a couple of days, don't start without me!"

He hung up.

Mammon blinked, pulling the phone away from his ear to stare at it.

"You'd think he'd want to know the plan before agreeing to it," he told Timcampy as the golem croaked miserably.

Either way, it was all coming together nicely.

At least, he thought so before Squalo kicked down his door, screeching incoherently as he waved the priceless and ancient Grimoire of Flames around like a raggedy old flag.

* * *

 **Bye, bye Allen Walker. Hello, Viper. Let's see what wonderful adventures you get up to.**

 **Now, who guessed Skull was gonna be the old friend? Cause, really, I can't leave Skull out of a Mammon story. They're BFFies.**

 **Is it just me or is Allen getting more and more snarky as I get farther into this story?** **I regret nothing, of course. Just making an observation.**

 **I should probably take the time to actually read the manga if I'm gonna insist on including the Vindice...hm**

 **The quote this chapter isn't as noticeable as some of the others, but not as out there as the Neah vs. Voldemort.**

 **Guest Reviews:**

 **S – Thank you! Sadly, you had to bask for awhile. BUT, I have returned once again, with another chapter for you to bask in! That's good, right? Ha…ha…**

 **Guest – Oh, thank you! It's more that they were hoping it would happen? They can't see the future, but they can try to manipulate it. If they could create and gain the loyalty of a** _ **candidate**_ **, even if they don't actually become an Arcobelano? But if Allen actually becomes an Arcobelano, they know everything he can do and everything he's capable of already. Thank you! Allen's a very malleable character and I just love it. Haha, so many people rebelled when I suggested that Timcampy was dead that I figured throwing him in wouldn't be hard. He makes a good Fantasma, anyway.**

 **KK – Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed it!**

 **Matsuki Sakata – Don't worry, I plan on continuing this and Keep Walking till the end, wherever and whenever that is! I just might take a while…Haha, I'm glad you're enjoying them! Thank you!**

 **I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter!**


	7. Chapter 7

**(Some of my absence is explained on my profile page, if anyone was wondering)**

 **This chapter is also known as "Everyone is Swearing and Somehow No One is Dying Yet."**

 **I don't own D Gray Man or Katekyo Hitman Reborn**

* * *

Viper kicked down the dramatic door in a suitably dramatic fashion, a folder in hand and a polite smile plastered to his face.

"Bermuda!" he called, stepping into the bright room. "Don't you know it's rude to keep a gentleman waiting?" Viper chuckled, expecting to see his boss steaming over another pile of paperwork.

He blinked, seeing an unfamiliar woman seated in front of the wrapped baby, a very familiar cloak – even matching his preferred indigo – wrapped around her slight form. Neither of them even blinked at his unconventional entrance.

"I want to make this clear," Viper started, raising his hands innocently. "The door had it coming."

Bermuda pinched the bridge of his nose, holding in a sigh with Herculean strength. Viper was proud of the little guy. Master Cross never tried so hard to seem unaffected. Especially not after the first murder attempt.

"Viper," the baby-boss stated. "Meet Viper. He'll be your official replacement once your five-years of service are completed. For now, I wanted you to show him the ropes of his duty as Viper."

"How many of us do you have running around?" Viper asked, blinking.

"As many as we need," Bermuda shot back. His wrappings twisted into a visible smirk before he continued. "I hope you didn't think you were a special case, Viper?"

Ouch. There went his already meager pride.

"Now, get to work," he ordered, shooing the pair towards a door that Viper knew lead to individual rooms for each of the prison's workers. Not that any of them ever seemed to sleep. "And send Rossi to clean up Viper's mess!"

With the second overly dramatic door magically locking itself behind them, the two Viper's took the chance to look at each over.

"Whaddaya in for?" the Viper in purple asked, breaking Viper's concentration from her bright green hair. He wanted to say it was dyed, but something held him back. Maybe it was how her eyebrows were a similar shade.

'My uncle lives inside of me and sometimes goes on murderous rampages that happened to include an entire Famiglia once.' Viper was tempted, if only to see if the woman-also-named-Viper's expression would finally change, but decided against it. Even mentioning Neah casually had the risk of getting the Noah's attention, especially since it's been so long since he last acted out.

"I just wanted a good cup of tea," he lamented. The other Viper's lip twitched downwards.

"'Muda's a hardass, but I doubt he'd of snatch you up for drinking tea," she said. When Viper opened his mouth to continue to spill his woes on his lost cup of shitty tea, she shook her head. "Nah, I don't wanna know anymore. Stopped caring around the time you kicked down 'Muda's fancy-ass door."

"You wrote me off quickly for someone who I have never met before," Viper noted, his tone tainted with annoyance. At least Kanda had given him a reason after they meet, however shitty it might have been.

' _I don't associate with cursed brats,'_ Viper's perfectly formed ass.

"The loud, obnoxious shit might work for a Lightning, but it's fake as all hell on a Mist like you," she-Viper stated, tsking in disdain. "Stop fucking testing it out, 'Muda doesn't give a flying shit as long as you complete your damn missions." She glared at him, her shock of electric yellow eyes stabbing into his grey pair. "It looks pitiful."

"Excuse me," Viper tried, only for his companion to steamroll right over him.

"You're a strong ass Mist, I can tell without you having to do jackshit. If you actually applied yourself instead of playing juvenile games with a man older than the dirt on your nose, you would get somewhere. Instead of," she flipped open Viper's folder, squinting at his mission details in distaste. Viper watched the folder in his hands dissolve into indigo Flames, suitably impressed. She'd make a fantastic pick-pocket, leaving him unaware of her theft like that. "What? Following around potential plants? Baby shit. With how strong your Flames are, you should be working on assassinations by now."

"I'm not a fan of murder, you know," Viper pointed out, pasting on Allen's signature smile.

"Fucking better, but still obvious as shit," Viperette said, clapping the folder closed and tossing it over her shoulder. "Mists are all about information. Sometimes torture, often reconnaissance. Frantically flipping between faces without making the effort to look different outs you faster than your fucking smile makes me wanna bash your face it. Damn, it's sickening, stop it."

"Stop…being myself?" Viper asked, his smile twitching.

Vipera rolled her eye hard enough to disrupt Earth's orbit. "Stop being everyone at once. Take a breath, watch, and _learn_ , rather than regurgitating your life story onto your face. Use an illusion if your damn-well must, but stop that shit. Or I'll put you out of your misery and kill you myself."

* * *

"VOI, WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT?" Squalo squawked, shaking the _priceless_ and _irreplaceable_ Grimoire of Flames with one hand as his sword-arm gestured towards it in vaguely threatening motions that Mammon's eyes followed like a magnet.

Like _hell_ was Squalo – Commander or not – ruining the Grimoire. Mammon would leave him blubbering like a toddler before he let that happen on his watch.

"As I have said _seven times now_ ," Mammon muttered, crossing his arms. "It is a formula to revive Xanxus Vongola from his vegetative state and save the Varia from your incompetency."

Squalo gaped, flapping his sword-arm like a teenage girl about to have her very first bitch fit.

"This would, of course, put us at odds with the Main Family and risk Xanxus Vongola being killed rather than indisposed," Mammon added, rolling his eyes under the safety of his hood.

Squalo croaked, pointing his sword-arm, steady and as threatening to the illusionist as a needle, at the Arcobelano. "You," he wheezed. "Baby. Explain."

"Might as well gather the Officers," Mammon intoned. "Perhaps use a graph? Or a slide-show like I'm your underpaid teacher trying to slam basic common sense past your own stupidity."

Squalo wheezed, his eyes rolling heavenward for either patience or an answer. Mammon waited, silently counting down the minutes. He raised an eyebrow when he reached ten. He slid his gaze from the possibly comatose Commander to see Bel pass his door, pause, and turn back to pass again, snickering.

"Have you pulled yourself together enough to actually speak coherently or do I need to hunt down Levi A Than to understand the complexities of caveman grunting?" Mammon asked, switching his stare back to the fuming Rain Officer.

"You shitty baby," Squalo hissed. "No pay for two weeks."

"You have a potential plan to finally free your Sky and three other Guardians to bring up to date," Mammon reminded him. The Rain Officer hissed a single, very loud, 'voi' at the Arcobaleno and marched out of the Mist's room, the _priceless_ Grimoire still in his white-knuckled grip.

He took a breath, shared a significant look with Fantasma, and calmed himself with the reminder that he handled the Varia's paperwork.

Specifically their finances.

* * *

 **I'm no longer allowed to write while tired. The first and second drafts were written while I was tired and, Imma be honest, they were bad. Like, Viper contemplating murder while seating on a Roman monument kinda bad. It's not allowed anymore.**

 **Viprette/Vipera (the female Viper) is a gem. Favorite OC this entire story. Sorry Arturo, you've be rejected.**

 **Viprette/Vipera's rant basically boils down to Wiper, stop being a suppressed little shit and take these five years to STOP EMULATING MANA AND BECOME YOUR OWN PERSON, I BEG OF YOU.**

 **WELL, HOLY SHIT, MAMMON. You're snappy today. Bet it's because SQUALO IS THROWING AROUND YOUR PRICELESS BOOK LIKE ITS TWILIGHT.**

 **Viper refers directly to Mist Users under the service of the Vindice. We'll probably run into some others who have sold their souls to the Devil (for five years) for a fancy snake name in further chapters.**

 **Guest Reviews:**

 **Guest (1) - Yup! Haha, I gotta admit, it's as surprising to me by now, as it is to you. With being called demon for so long, I didn't really see Allen having a negative reaction to such a pretty nickname, other than to roll with it. Ah, Almond and Bermuda are definitely fun to write together, kinda like Nick Fury and basically anyone. Thank you! I'm glad you liked the friendships and the chapter as a whole!**

 **KK - Thank you! Haha, Skull will be back in a chapter or two to mess with the Varia and defrost Xanxus.**

 **Jasdevi-sama - I mean...it wasn't exactly soon...but here's that chapter you were asking for! Sorry!**

 **AngelFaux - Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying it so far!**

 **LilacScreamer - Haha, you got it! Thank you!**

 **I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter! (Imma try and have the next chapter up next month. I wanna update most of my other stories first though.)**


	8. Chapter 8

**So, I'm studying abroad in for a few months. I'll make a conscious effort to keep on track (attempting one update per story a month.** **Does that sound fair to everyone?) but Imma mainly be spending my time in classes or, ya know, exploring Europe. Not that you guys aren't used to my lazy updating by now though...**

 **ANYWAY, I don't own D Gray Man or Katekyo Hitman Reborn.**

 ***squints* Ah, Vipera is here so...warning for vulgarity? Just, from now on, expect swearing everywhere.**

 **Informational Chapter A-hoy!**

* * *

"The fuck was 'Muda thinking, recruiting your pasty emotionally-stunted ass?" Viprette said, crossing her arms. Viper gritted his teeth as the older Mist glared at him in disgust, hovering in the air like some kind of god.

"He probably wanted someone who doesn't look like a delinquent to pick up your slack," he snapped back. He had already sweat through his white button-up, his cloak draped across his lap. Two hours of meditation – interrupted by his mentor's completely unnecessary comments – and he was no closer to levitation.

"Yea, the Angel of Vendicare," she snapped, spitting at his feet. "The fuck do the Devils need an Angel for? Your looks are undermining the integrity of 'Muda's reputation – or some shit."

"Because I don't make children cry when I smile…" Viper rolled his eyes.

"I saw that, Angel Fucker!" she snarled. "I have three months to whip you into Vindice standards and all you do is stick your thumbs up your ass and spew shit everywhere. Take this seriously before I throw your defective ass at Krait, see how he likes your shit!"

"Your threat would be more effective if I knew who Krait was!" Viper argued, throwing his hands up in the air. He was _so_ done with this woman. She was rude, crude, and she _never_ made sense. She was a less alcoholic, less nympho female version of Master Cross! One vibrant-colored asshole was enough for his life-time.

"You've been working for 'Muda for two months and you haven't meet Krait yet?" Vipera scoffed. "You poor fucker, I almost pity you."

"If you could just _tell me_ ," Viper tried. The she-Viper hummed, squinting down at him. She nodded, decisive and _finally_ stepped back onto solid ground.

"You and me? We're Vipers. Hidden and sneaky and that shit – Mists. We are information and assassination, spies. Krait? Krait's a fucking Cloud. He doesn't give a fuck. Loner to the end, I have watched this asshole kill his partner without a damn blink. He's the rabid dog you point at an enemy and hope for the best. He's the only Krait 'Muda's got, cause he keeps killing newbies, staking out his territory or some shit. If he catches a whiff of you and your 'Angel' fuckery, he'll beat you down faster than 'Muda can slap you with some chains."

"Mists, Clouds – Vipers, Kraits," Viper listed, holding up both hands, each with two fingers presented. "There's seven Flames, though, right? Does Bermuda employ them all?"

"The day 'Muda gets a Sky under his thumb is the day I throw myself into Marianna's Snatch," Vipera insisted, plopping herself in front of him with a sigh. "Might as well give you a goddamn run down now, save myself the trouble later on. Fuck, you ask a lot of questions for a shit-brained brat."

Viper straightened, his eyes locked intently on his mentor.

"Mists are Vipers and Clouds are Kraits," she started. "You got that already. Asps are Rains. 'Muda's got four of them right now, the oldest going by _Aspis_ like a fucking geezer. He likes to teach his youngers about the lulling factor of Tranquility – kill gently and shit, like a real stand-up asp. They're the jack-of-all-trades of this damned circus. Aspis likes assassinations, but his students have worked in science and medical before. Now, Cobras are Storms. We got two right now, but I think 'Muda has his eye on a third one, a real fucking up-start. They get a lot of attention, 'Muda's Cobras. They're flashy and they love the spotlight. Surprising as fuck, they are Muda's main infiltrators after us. They nail seduction better than the glitziest whore I know. The girl goes more by Elaphid, while the boy is Cobra. Their contact is up in another year, but I heard they might look to renew it. At least with Krait, everyone knows 'Muda can't let him out. Bastard would wipe out a Famiglia and end up right back where he started. Those two just love the attention – fucking insane little shits."

Vipera stopped and glared at Viper. "You following, Angel Fucker?"

"Yes," the former exorcist assured her. "Asp is Rain and Cobra is Storm."

She tsked. "Pythons are Suns. Hitmen, healers – crazy fuckers looking for their next adrenaline high at every corner. Wouldn't trust one unless they were limbless and bleeding out. We have seven. One, 'Rochil, tried to bite out my throat once. 'ey're a bitch, but 'eir contract ran out over a year ago, so you just need to watch out for 'eir juniors. Finally, Boas are Lightnings. If it's a big enough mission, they're sent out as the first wave. Sometimes 'Muda loans them out to peaceful Famiglia meetings, to dissuade fighting. Three of those fucks, but they are genial enough. Best company out this entire damned army. Any dumb-ass questions I can fucking ignore, or are you ready to actually learn some important shit instead of gossiping like 'Muda's ninny-ass guards?"

"Why does Bermuda have all of us under his employ?" Viper asked. "He has his dapper guards, and he is obviously no slouch in a fight."

Vipera barked out a single harsh laugh. "Angel Fucker, you really know nothing, huh? It's like talking to a civilian dipshit." She frowned, turning away to squint up at the bleak ceiling. "'Muda does whatever the fuck he wants. We little sewer rats don't question his motives. It works best that way. We stay out of his torture cells and he uses us to his heart's desire. Don't fuck that up for us, got it? I don't want to end up with the poor fucks we drag back here. If you were at all sane, neither would you. Death is more pleasant."

Viper took in her words and thought about it. He rarely went into the cell blocks, especially not the deeper levels. The screams alone that echoed up to the entry-level criminals on Bermuda's floor was enough of a hint of the atrocities Vindice enacted on the scum of the world.

His Innocence imbued arm never so much as twitched, however. His morals, hard as stone, never faltered. What did that say about him now, to work with an organization known for torture and cruelty?

Had Neah infected his personality so much already?

(He was a weapon and the Vindice were his wielders, pointing him towards their common goal of making the world a better place – right and wrong depended on the eyes watching him and the hand wrapped around his hilt ( _his throat)_.)

"I understand," Viper said with a smile.

Vipera eyed him but nodded, apparently confident in his response. "Try again. You're thinking too much about the technicalities of it. Mists reconstruct the world – flying is only the simplest trick. If you can't even get that down, you're really no use to anyone."

* * *

The other Guardians were uncharacteristically quiet, eyes like lasers on Squalo. The Rain Officer scoffed, his arms crossed. Everyone was seated at couches, positioned in a semicircle.

On the table in the middle rested the Grimoire, open to a brightly decorated page.

"It's a circle," Leviathan pointed out, frowning heavily.

"Muu, no one told me Levi graduated first grade!~" Lussuria pouted. "I would have thrown a party."

Mammon could feel the headache already.

Leviathan glared. "I meant, aren't rituals supposed to have that star in the center? This one's just a circle."

"As amusing as the idea of a Dying Will Flame ritual having a pentagram – a stereotypical satanic symbol..." Mammon refrained from rolling his eyes as he explained. As if he would let the Earl's 'satanic' Dark Matter or his pseudo calling card anywhere near these idiots. That was just asking for trouble. "A pentagram only has five points. With _six_ elements, a pentagram would be unbalanced. By technicality, this ritual uses a hexagram, or rather the Seal of Solomon. This symbol balances out opposites better than the pentagram, which is uneven, but also is connected to life and protection – neither of which are the intentions of this ritual. This ritual is a variant, so the circle is the main construct with whichever -gram necessary added after the participants are collected. The original spell is done with all seven flames in a heptagram formation, the main construct for Dying Will Flame spells. Since there are _seven_ points for the _seven_ Flames."

"Ushishishi, Mammy knows a lot about peasant magicks." Bel tapped his knife against the edge of table, closer to the Grimoire than Mammon was necessarily comfortable with.

"Someone has to," the Mist said. "As none of you know enough to do something as simple as breaking an amateur confinement barrier."

Master Cross taught Allen easier spells before breakfast during their years training. The hardest part had to be gathering all the necessary Elements to willingly participate.

It was just lucky Xanxus Vongola had already Attracted four of the six.

"Well, Commander, what does the spell include?~" Lussuria requested, crossing his legs as he leaned forward to sunglasses fixated on the Grimoire.

"The shitty baby is right in that this is an easy spell," Squalo grunted, his face twisted in a scowl. "Six Elements just need to circle around the 'confinement barrier', in an order per the picture." He held up the Grimoire, tapping the colorful diagram with a calloused pianist finger. There were seven versions of the same diagram, each with a slightly different placement based on which Flame was confined. "Aim a brief stream of Flames at the 'barrier' in the center and the shitty Boss is free."

The Guardians were quiet, thoughtful.

"Simple," Squalo said. "Easy." He didn't seem to trust his own words. Mammon tried not to blame him. Xanxus Vongola had been imprisoned for four years. They must have spent ages looking for a way to release him, only for one to fall in their lap after so long without their Sky.

"There's one problem, Squalo~" Lussuria cooed, a distressed frown pressed onto his face. His fellow Guardians turned to the Sun, each overjoyed with the information the Rain Commander presented to them.

Mammon tried not to even look in Levi's direction, content to not know what face the man was making to match those sounds.

"We don't have a Cloud. No after what Ottabio did," Lussuria continued, peering at the other Varia officers over his obnoxiously expensive sunglasses.

Mammon sighed. "Am I to assume you are including me in your count of Flame contributors?"

"Oh, but of course!" Lussuria cooed. He rested a hand on his check and pouted at the Arcobelano. "It is your idea, after all! You have to participate!"

He _had_ to sign himself away to another Sky, one he had never meet. He _had_ to hand himself away with a book and an idea. All because of his damn bleeding heart.

Bel shishishi-ed, snatching Mammon's tiny body off the couch arm and into his gentle grip. "You can't escape us now, Mammy." The Mist narrowed his eyes. Bel's words weren't comforting in the least. They were possessive and selfish, a claim.

He didn't respond verbally. Mammon – Viper – Allen – Red understood wrapping a chain around another's neck, the threat of dying together holding all the pieces in place. He knew carving someone's name over your heart to hold onto life, interest, _sanity_.

"I have contacted an old comrade," Mammon said, pointedly ignoring the previous conversation. "He's a powerful Cloud, who should be able to complete the circle with ease. He assured me he will arrive in a few days."

"We're supposed to trust a man we've never met?" Squalo cut in. He placed the Grimoire on the table like it was glass, finally showing the appropriate amount of respect for the priceless artifact.

"I trust him," Mammon said, firm. Skull was, of course, the laughing stock of the Arcobelano, being a former civilian and the nominated weakest of the 'World's Bests'. But he was the strongest Cloud _for a reason_. There was no one who could hope to match him, even with the pacifiers' restrictions.

"And I trust Mammy," Bel backed him up, grinning like the mad prince he was. "Mammy doesn't lie."

The three other Guardians shifted and muttered in agreement, Squalo reluctantly.

"Is that a consensus?" Mammon eyed each Guardian. This part was almost as important as gathering each Element of the Sky Flames. _Consent_. "Are you going to align yourself against the Vongola, the Kings of the Underworld, in the name of the revival of Xanxus Vongola?"

"Yes," they said, with conviction, with determination. Oozing with honesty and their bright Flames, Mammon could almost see this man they were dedicating their futures to. This wild man who would own _him_ too, after this. Whether they Resonated or not, Mammon was an officer of the Varia, a paid employee. And Xanxus was _The Boss._

And the old weapon, reforged as often as the sun leaves the sky, will change hands again.

* * *

 **Send help. I've made Viprette even worse. Where the fuck did that innuendo come from, I don't know. I'm a family-friendly person, I swear.**

… **Marianna's Trench is the deepest part of the world's ocean. I'll see myself out.**

 ***squints at the 'Serpent System'* Too much? Probably too much. Well, I never claimed to be a _good_ writer.**

 **Meet all of my OCs. Look at how beautiful they all are~ (They are all technically called by their original code name – Viper, Python, Asp, Cobra, Krait, Boa – but to differentiate between themselves, they fall back on scientific names, different languages, etc. Which is why Vipera is called Vipera more often than Viprette.)**

 **Okay, I'm starting to formulate a timeline - its been four years since Xanxus was iced, Mammon has been working for the Varia for almost a year, and Tsuna is about nine. (This does not, necessarily, mean there will be Baby!Tenth Generation showing up later.)**

 **Guest Reviews:**

 **Guest (1)/A - Thank you, I'm glad you think so! Haha, its good you like that idea cause there are a lot more snakes...ha. *cough* Yeah, there are only currently two Vipers, but the Noah would technically have to search through past and present Vipers cause some have been know to keep the name due to the power and esteem behind it. Of course...if the Noah did show up the Vindice and the snakes would totally kick their asses, lets be honest here. Oh, you're welcome. Haha, as always, I'm sorry for the delay in updating. (Before anyone argues, it needs to be noted that there are literally only like, fifteen exorcists in canon timeline- _ten_ if we exclude Hevlaska, Bookman, Cross, Allen, and Lavi. There are thirteen Noah (not all being battle-oriented or in fighting condition - looking at Wisely and Road) ****versus Bermuda's Vindice and an army of _nineteen_ snakes. Now, technically, based on this story's timeline there is no guarantee Road is bodyless and the only exorcists left alive (confirmed at least - I left out _a lot_ of names) are Allen and Kanda, but the numbers _still_ aren't in the Noah's favor if they find Wiper while he's working for at Vendicare. Aaaand I went on a complete tangent, sorry. **

**LilacScreamer - You're welcome! *blinks* oh, thank you. Sorry for the long delay in updating!**

 **Guest (2) - Hun, be as picky as you want, I thrive with **constructive criticism, even if it's just to tell me where my typos are. (the fact you've read this three times already makes me blush, like my gosh). But, thank you for pointing it out! It should be all fixed now!**

 **BlaketheDog - Oh, Merry (Belated) Christmas to you too! And I hope you're having a good New Year so far!**

 **Anyway, I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter!**

 **(There was an upside to having to sit through the boring information with little amusement...Skull's next chapter.)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hahahahah, I might** _ **actually**_ **keep my promise, holy crap.**

 **Maybe. I'm trying at least. I've got, like, three days.**

… **Skull's finally here!**

 **Warning: Vipera is still around. So, profanity is a thing.**

 **I don't own D. Gray Man or Katekyo Hitman Reborn**

* * *

Viper sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he slinked out of Bermuda's office, a manila folder clasped in one hand. He was starting to suspect his boss was giving him back-to-back missions as a punishment for all the times he kicked down his door.

That, or he was finally fed up with Viper's attempts to steal a hat from his dapper guards. And Viper had been so sure of his strip-poker plan.

The folder was snatched from his hand in a moment of inattentiveness, but Viper wasn't bothered. The only person to interact with him other than Bermuda was his mentor.

"Another info gig," Vipera scoffed, crinkling her nose as she sifted through the pages of useless fluff information to find the juicy bits. "I keep tellin' ya, Angel Fucker, assassinations jobs are where it's at."

"Information sells for more," Viper argued, crossing his arms.

Vipera didn't deny it, snapping the folder shut and throwing it over her shoulder instead. "It's boring and time-consuming as shit. You could be here training instead. You still can't anchor an illusion to save your worthless fucking life and you expect me to trust you not to spit on the name of 'Viper' when I'm gone?"

Viper rolled his eyes and prayed for patience. "You have two more months. I'm sure I'll have it down by then."

"Not if you keep pissing 'Muda off, Angel Fucker," Vipera snapped. She whacked Viper over the head when it looked like he was going to argue. "I don't give a fuck if he murdered your _mother_ in front of you, 'Muda holds your leash so fucking bark. We ain't got the time for alpha bullshit when you're gonna be the top Mist in this shithole. That means floating like a possessed child, warping reality like a god, and _holding_ your illusions. Ya got two outa three – congratulations. You're just missing your fucking _legs._ "

"Unfortunately," Viper said, spreading his hands helplessly. "Our esteemed employer has assigned me to observe the Cordana's for the next week."

"You better practice," Vipera threatened, her raised hand enveloped in an ominous indigo aura. A threat for those that don't know what she can do – for weak Mafiosi with only the bare knowledge of Flames. For them, it was a distraction – _looky, looky at the pretty Flames, look at what I can do._

For Viper, it was an insult.

As if he _didn't_ _know_ what Vipera was capable of.

"Was there anything else you wanted or did you just come here to test my patience?" Viper asked.

"As if I could actually get you angry, Angel Fucker," Vipera said. "Nah, that dark pit you've got buried deep inside is for someone special. You can't trick a Mist. Can't fucking hide shit from them either, so don't try. It makes both of us look stupid."

"If you're expecting me to divulge my life story, I must apologize."

Vipera squinted at him, canting her head for a better look. "Fucking better. At this rate, you might become an actual person by the time I'm gone."

"You almost sound like you care," Viper warned her.

Vipera cackled. "You pasty-ass Angel Fucker – you shoulda been a comedian instead of landing your stunted ass in here." She stared him down with her yellow-eyed glare. "Listen up. No one in here _or_ out there would so much as piss on you if you were on fire. Nah, you gotta find a Sky for that kinda aftercare, and a damn good one. I'll tell you this now, cause it's a bitch to learn on your own – if you got a Sky that ain't gonna hunt you down when you go missing or smack that disgusting fucking self-deprecating smile off your face, they ain't a Sky worth following. Ain't no one else is gonna care about you, so you better as fuck find a good Sky. Otherwise you'll either end up like the shits we drag back here or dead because you were too fucking stupid."

Viper reared back, startled at his counterpart's vehemence and sudden topic. Left startled and blinking, Vipera scoffed at him again.

"Keep that shit in mind on your terribly important mission to play peeping tom for 'Muda," she concluded, showing him the horns over her shoulder as she left, apparently done with him for the day.

"I'll never understand that woman," Viper decided.

* * *

There was a little known fact about Mammon.

He liked his sleep.

Sure, he might not sleep every night and he might spend more time trying to fall asleep instead of _actually_ sleeping. But, the rare times Mammon fell asleep and stayed asleep? He cherished that time.

Disturbing his sleep was the easiest way to land yourself at the top of Mammon's possibly-too-long shit-list.

Skull, strangely enough, _never learned this crucial lesson_.

"MAMS," the Cloud Arcobelano whisper-screeched into the Mist's ear, throwing himself onto the over-sized bed with the zeal of a clueless child about to face his death.

"Mrph," Mammon responded, an eye opening a slit.

"Mams, comm'on, you can't leave me hanging for another second." Skull shook the Mist and Mammon flopped around like a doll. "We gotta do this _right now_. While Senpai's still in the dark. Mams. MAMS."

"I will castrate you with a rusty _nail_."

Skull paused, squinting down at the pissed-off blob he counted as his closest friend. "Like, in an illusion or in real life. Cause, Mams, I gotta tell you, I never know which one."

Mammon grinned through his gritted teeth, already feeling the weight of the bags under his eyes. "Guess."

Skull shrugged, losing interest. "Guess it doesn't matter, cause you're not gonna do it."

"Don't underestimate my spite," Mammon argued, digging himself out of his blankets. Fantasma ribbited, annoyed, before burrowing under the abandoned pillow to steal another hour or two of shut eye.

Mammon was _not_ jealous.

"If you didn't kill Senpai for stealing your cloak, then you're not gonna hurt me for disrupting your beauty sleep." Skull canted his head, taking in Mammon without his usual shadow-illusion or cloak combo. He grinned. "Not that you need it, Mams. You get prettier every time I see you."

Mammon set a ravenous cousin of Hevlaska on the stuntman. As the Cloud screeched, running around the lavish room in a futile attempt to escape, Mammon stretched. He smacked his lips as he rubbed his eyes. He wrapped a tendril of Mist around himself and levitated.

Skull's shrieks reached a pitch that made Mammon's ear ring.

With a put-upon sigh, Mammon dismissed the tentacle beast and directed Skull into the air beside him.

"Ha," Skull panted out, looking way too satisfied with himself. "Knew I was your favorite, Mams."

Mammon dropped him.

On the bed, of course. He still needed Skull's help with reviving Xanxus Vongola. There was no benefit to killing him.

Yet.

"I love you too!" Skull crowed, muffled, into Mammon's comforter.

The Mist Arcobelano massaged his temple. He had regrets. So, so many regrets.

* * *

… **.I was gonna have Viper and Vipera bet on what Bermuda looks like beneath his bandages (the answer is that Bermuda is totally a black-faced lion tamarin btdubs) but I guess…I guess talking about Viper being a failure is okay too? Next chapter we get to meet other Snakes, I promise.**

 **Skull is probs my favorite character to write. Like, he beats out Vipera and everything.**

 ***squints to the side* Wrote this entire chapter while sick, so I can't promise it's actually good. I'm still 70% sure I hallucinated a tarantula, so I'm not really trusting my judgement. Better now, but I can't seem to determine whether or not I actually like this chapter. It's kinda a giant shrug.**

 **Guest Reviews:**

 **PureInsanity – I'll try and keep it running for as long as I can, then!**

 **I hope everyone enjoyed this short chapter! Next up we get Skull meeting the Varia before we finally crack down on reviving Xanxus.**


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